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Zikomo, Malawi

  By: Julia Bellehumeur

 

Working in Malawi as an intern for the Equality Effect was an amazing experience.  It felt like three months flew by so quickly, yet I was there long enough to develop a strong connection to the country and the people.

Small town at the bottom of our Mt Mulanje hike

 

Poster created for the conference

As noted in my previous blog, one of the main projects I worked on in Malawi was organizing a conference, or as we called it: A capacity building workshop on challenging the corroboration rule for rape.  Quick recap: this “Corroboration Rule” is a discriminatory, colonial rule requiring women and girls to provide additional evidence specifically in cases of rape or defilement. Myself and my co-intern developed the framework for the workshop based on interviews we held with community members involved in sexual offence cases and their perspectives regarding access to justice for survivors of sexual violence, and how the Corroboration Rule factors in.

Following the creation of that framework, I started coordinating every aspect of the conference, including speakers, guests, funding, and logistics.  I learned a lot of unexpected ways to adapt my work habits to be more compatible in Malawi.  For example, Wi-Fi access in Malawi is extremely limited, and scheduling meetings that actually happen even close to on time is very unlikely. It became essential to find new methods of communication so that our work did not remain stagnant.  Instead of sending emails to judges or police officers, I would contact them via WhatsApp, or just simply show up at their offices where we were always warmly greeted.  Once I figured that out, each week I started to plan which days I would devote to taking mini-buses across the city and tracking down everyone with whom I needed to meet.

A few mini-buses driving through Blantyre

Post-yoga morning coffee

In addition to not having Wi-Fi, my office frequently experienced power outages, which meant that I would have to work from home in the evenings to have access to the free (but shoddy) Wi-Fi after 6pm.  Although this seemed like a burden at first, I eventually adapted my schedule to start some work days later after enjoying a morning coffee and a self-directed yoga session in the sun.  I would instead work later into the evening long past the 5pm sunset (until mid-July when evening-long power outages became the norm between 4pm and 9pm).  In Malawi, it became quickly apparent how important (and even sometimes enjoyable!) it is to step outside of my comfort zone and try different strategies when working on any given task.

Working from our Malawian home

The day to day of the “event planning” was so distant from my expectations of what “human rights work” would look like that after getting the hang of things in preparation for the conference, I began to question many aspects of my role.  I never expected to be running around the city between various stationary shops hunting for basic products like nametags, or finding myself negotiating printing prices in the small dingy office of a back-alley building.  I also never expected to be the person meeting one-on-one with young male lawyers who may want to fund our project, or may really just want to chat for a few hours to learn about Canada. And I definitely never expected to be taking the lead on a project as big as organizing this conference for so many people in positions of authority and power in Malawi.  When I was told I’d be heading to Malawi instead of Kenya, I thought I’d be sitting inside at a desk all day researching cases on my laptop with an embarrassing amount of google chrome tabs open. . .   The work I did instead was exciting, but confusing for reasons that I could not understand throughout the rush of it all.

High Court judges among other guests at the conference

On the day of the conference, high court judges, magistrates, lawyers, doctors, social workers, survivors, community members, legal experts, police officers, a psychologist, and a poet all gathered at the Malawi High Court to discuss the Corroboration Rule.  After each local expert’s presentation, I observed engaging group discussions that highlighted the complexities of the topic.  What struck me most was how these conversations evolved from initial discomfort and frustration between sectors, to each sector coming up with creative ways to improve access to justice for survivors of sexual violence in their own respective fields.  This interdisciplinary conversation allowed me to experience how a holistic approach can generate new strategies and perspectives to tackle complex issues.

(See the following link for a local newspaper’s perspective on the conference: http://mwnation.com/challenging-corroboration-rule/ )

Upon further reflection, I began to understand the bigger picture of what I had learned through my internship and my role in planning and attending this conference.  The people of Malawi helped me understand the importance of all the practical aspects, big and small, that go into making legal change relevant in the real world.  Finding ways to engage the community in supporting and understanding any given issue is a huge component of legal change.  Sometimes, that means printing flyers, ordering donuts, and setting up tables.  Other times, it means social workers giving presentations at a school, or to government officials.  But even once the law is changed, there is still a tremendous amount of work that goes into changing community practices and enforcing those laws.  I saw this to be particularly true in the recent banning of child marriages. The constitutional claim my organization is working on needs things like conferences and workshops, education programs, funding, and so much more for the written laws and legal arguments to have any real impact.  We need doctors, police officers, and judges alike to be on board with seeing the law evolve.  By observing the discussions at this conference, I finally understood my role in the project, the skills I developed, and the outcome of my work.

Me and my best Malawian pal, Chimz

While the culture in Malawi is so different from Canada, I realized that the principles of change in this area of law are still very applicable.  Rape myths, social stigmas, and systemic legal barriers are not all that different, although they may be on a different scale. Being open to trying new things and taking a holistic approach to human rights issues through interdisciplinary strategies is also equally important at home.

My experience on this internship was so multifaceted that I’ve been finding it hard to articulate exactly what it is that made it so special.  It’s almost overwhelming to try to dissect and identify the various elements to what I learned and what I am taking away.  I can say, however, that I have never questioned so many things in my life as when I was in Malawi; yet, I have never been so sure that this was exactly where I wanted to be in that moment.  Things came together in a chaotic but ultimately beautiful and satisfying way and I genuinely wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Zikomo & tionana, Malawi <3

 

 

My stay in Dakar

2017-Boily Audrey By Audrey Boily

Many things could be said about my brief stay in Dakar this summer. I could elaborate on the sound of the ocean or the beauty of the nearby beach, I could mention the suffocating heat and the need to sleep under a mosquito net with no fan, or I could simply describe the differing living conditions and scenery from the ones I’ve grown accustomed to in my hometown of Montreal. Truth being said, this is not what I will remember from my internship in Senegal and it is not what I would like people to focus on when describing my trip. I would rather want people to remember things hardest to verbalize; the new emotions that I learned to deal with and situations of which the beauty and power is lost when put into words.

One thing that really stood out from my experience was the loss of bearings I experienced upon arrival and during the entire length of my trip. For example, it took me two weeks to be able to identify what stop I had to get off the bus to get to work (something I do quite easily at home). At first, every building looked the same; it seemed impossible to establish clear landmarks.

It also took me time to understand where my place was within my organization, my host family and with my Senegalese friends. Means that I normally use to avoid or deal with conflicts seemed obsolete. I still had a voice and a desire to express my ideas, but didn’t always know how to do so in a constructive and respectful way. Once I understood the reasoning behind certain Senegalese habits, it became easier for me to accept them and move forward.

Another amazing part of my trip was the many different types of relationships I built with the people I met. A true sense of community existed in my neighborhood. Each family knew the others and every parent looked after the others’ children. When preparing a meal, it was always difficult to assess the quantity to prepare as in the event unexpected guests arrived around meal time, they would invariably be invited to stay and eat. With these relationships came very diverse and interesting conversations about life, religion, family, friendship and culture. The hardest part was nothing experienced during my stay, but having to leave and say goodbye to the many people that made my experience meaningful and memorable.

Les “Gardiens de la Brousse”

Lucas MathieuPar Lucas Matthieu

Le Burkina Faso connait depuis deux ans maintenant l’émergence de milices armées indépendantes dans les quatre coins du pays. Nommées « Koglweogos » (Gardiens de la brousse), ces milices se proposent comme garantes de la sécurité des populations dans les zones du pays que l’armée et la police ne parviennent pas à couvrir. L’émergence de tels groupes relève de la synergie d’un certain nombre de facteurs. Le manque de confiance des populations envers le corps politique, notamment depuis la révolution de 2015 et la période instable de transition qu’il la suivit vient se coupler avec l’incapacité du corps judiciaire à poursuivre les auteurs d’un certain nombre de crimes impunis (entre autres l’assassinat de l’ancien président Thomas Sankara et du journaliste Norbert Zongo). Par ailleurs, l’insécurité extrême à l’Est et au Nord du pays, tant au niveau des attaques à main armée sur les routes que de la menace terroriste grandissante au Sahel, a démontré l’incapacité de l’État à assurer la sécurité des citoyens Burkinabès. Un collègue me racontait l’histoire d’un commissariat de campagne, couvrant une zone immense, et n’ayant pour seul équipement qu’une mitraillette et une moto pour quinze policiers. On comprend dans ces conditions que les populations s’organisent pour gérer leur propre sécurité.

Les Kowglweogos ont le mérite d’avoir rempli leur objectif. L’insécurité dans l’Est du pays a baissé drastiquement, les attaques se font plus rares, et les Burkinabès dorment plus tranquilles. Mais cela se produit au coût du manque total de respect pour les droits des présumés voleurs. Ceux-ci sont ligotés, parfois victimes de torture ou de traitement inhumains et dégradants, et forcés à confesser leurs présumés crimes sans autres formes de procès. Une fois confessés, ils sont maltraités d’avantage , voir parfois trainés à l’arrière d’une moto dans tout le quartier pour servir d’exemple aux voleurs potentiels. Facebook regorge désormais de pĥotos de ce type, postés par les groupes Koglweogos.

 

Un post Facebook du groupe “Koglweogos du Burkina Faso”.

Ainsi, si l’intimidation de ce type est bien une force de dissuasion efficace, elle se produit en désaccord complet avec les droits de la personne. La règle de droit et le droit à un procès équitable passent à la trappe; les Koglweogos se font juges et partis, et les victimes soufrent de traitements inhumains, d’atteinte à leur intégrité physique et morale, et à leurs droits à la propriété.

Le rôle d’organisations comme le Mouvement Burkinabè des Droits des Hommes et des Peuples devient alors paradoxal. Les Koglweogos sont des structures citoyennes qui tentent de défendre leur droit à la sécurité devant la faillite de l’État à le maintenir.  En tant que tel, ils doivent, selon le MBDHP, être encouragés. Mais comment créer un discours permettant à la fois d’encourager les initiatives citoyennes et locales palliant au déficit de l’État, tout en étant forcé d’en condamner les agissant en termes de torture et de violation des droits humains ?

J’ai eu la chance de rencontrer, lors de la visite d’une des antennes du MBDHP à Koudougou, trois Koglweogos qui étaient venus demander de l’aide au MBDHP suite à l’arrestation arbitraire de trois de leurs camarades. Le groupe de Koglweogos était entré en conflit avec la communauté d’un village. L’un des villageois refusait de payer les « frais de corde » (l’amende infligée par les Koglweogos aux voleurs ) et était parvenu organiser son village pour se battre contre les Koglweogos venus réclamer les frais. Une fois sur place, le groupe de Koglweogo refusa le combat et appela la gendarmerie. Celle-ci les incita les Koglweogos à leur remettre leurs armes et à les escorter « en lieu sûr ». Au final, elle en emmena trois directement au poste pour les arrêter, et en livra cinq autres, désormais désarmés, à la population en colère. L’un d’entre eux est désormais porté disparu, et présumé mort.

Un groupe de Koglweogos

J’avais, avant cette rencontre, mis au point pour Équitas l’introduction d’un « Plan d’action » au niveau des Koglweogos. Cela m’avait permis de mettre au point un document d’une dizaine de page, expliquant la genèse de ces groupes, leurs méthodes, et les problématiques qu’ils posent en termes de droits humains. Pourtant il fallut une rencontre directe avec l’un de ces groupes pour avoir l’autre coté de l’histoire; et comprendre les rapports de force, ainsi que le sentiment d’indignation, que ces groupes aussi connaissent devant la faillite de l’État. Lors de la réunion, le premier Koglweogo qui prit la parole nous expliqua selon son point de vue, que le MBDHP et les Koglweogos recherchaient les mêmes objectifs : corriger les individus pour faire une meilleure société. Seulement, selon lui, le MBDHP utilisait les méthodes des « blancs », alors que les Koglweogos utilisaient des médhodes plus « traditionnelles ».  Mon collègue répondit qu’il comprenait, et que seul un dialogue et une compréhension commune pourraient permettre à chaque parti d’attendre ce qu’il voyait aussi comme un objectif commun, la sécurité des Burkinabès.

Cela n’a pas répondu à mes interrogations quand au paradoxes que doivent connaitre les association de défense de droits de la personne devant des groupes de ce type. Mais ce fut une bonne leçon sur l’importance d’entendre toujours les deux côtés du récit, et de savoir appréhender chaque situation dans sa nuance et sa contingence particulière. Et surtout, sur le rôle irremplaçable des organisations grassroots comme le MBDHP. Il apparait que les seuls acteurs capable d’apporter cette nuance sont ceux qui agissent sur le terrain, en connaissent les contradictions, les compromis et les rapports de forces. Rien dans le matériel et la recherche que j’avais accumulé sur le sujet jusqu’à mon entrevue n’aurait pu m’y préparer, ou me permettre de donner une réponse tranchée à un paradoxe comme la réponse à donner aux Koglweogos.

Learning to Sing: A Look Back on my Summer in Peru

Melisa DemirBy Melisa Demir

There are a number of ways that I could describe my fifteen-week journey to Peru –  an amazing adventure which often times all seems like a blur to me now.

“How was your trip?” is the most common question I’ve been faced with since my return – one that I expected, and yet still have trouble answering. “There’s not enough time in the world to tell you all about it,” I say.  Sometimes, I confess that it all went by so quickly – that it feels like I never even left.

Still, I find myself saying that my trip was busy, as I spent most of my days working hard to meet deadlines, or travelling back and forth from airports or bus stations early in the morning to get back to work on time after weekend getaways. When including it on my CV, I will probably write about how this was the summer in which I developed my research skills, perfected my Spanish, and learned about national and international human rights protection through my contributions to reports, events and other projects with the IDEHPUCP. My friends know it as the unforgettable trip where I managed to live by myself in a foreign country, made friends from all over the world, and climbed a countless amount of mountains – both physical and figurative.  

To me, this was the summer where I learned how to sing.

**

In Lima, life is always bustling – cars and busses honk through stop signs instead of actually stopping, bus drivers scream the route out of the window instead of having a formal system like we have here in Montreal, and nearly everyone listening to music fearlessly belts their hearts out as they sing along, no matter where they are.

I was shocked the first time I heard my colleague – who later became one of my best friends – singing her favourite reggaeton music in the middle of the office on my first day. I rolled my eyes and chuckled as the person behind me during the walk to the grocery store sometime early on in my trip sang and danced to his music. In Montreal, this would be seen as obnoxious and disruptive – but in Lima, it was a form of expression that had not yet become taboo or subjected to the social expectation that, in public or at work, one must be discrete. Where I was used to being expected to fit into a set of social standards, to mold into the rest of society and stay in the shadows, they would charge forward in individuality and expression, full of life and heart-warming spirit.

Walking through the streets of Magdalena del Mar on Peruvian independence day

It wasn’t long before I stopped jumping in surprise when someone in the Institute’s academica department broke the concentrated silence of the area with a few words of one of the summer’s top hits, and instead, started smiling and dancing along to their melody. Their voices and music ended up being the soundtrack to my summer, characterizing my walks home, my evening dinners with my Peruvian family as they sang “El gato nero” to their one-year-old son, and, of course, my time at work. As this aspect of Peruvian culture lost its foreignness, my initial role as the young, shy Canadian intern terrified of speaking Spanish at the risk of sounding stupid slowly morphed into one of sociability and confidence. The country that once seemed so distant from everything I knew began to transform into a home – or as my colleagues and I liked to call it, mi patria. On Peru’s independence day, I attempted to belt out their national anthem. I joined in many birthday celebrations at the office in which the entire Institute gathered around to sing “Happy Birthday” in choir around a large strawberry shortcake from the bakery down the street. Eventually, I even found myself humming along to my music as I typed.

What at first glance appeared to be an example of the care-free stereotype we often associate to Latin American culture eventually revealed itself to be a beautiful expression of happiness, confidence, and hope. A life in human rights research, I quickly realized, can be a daunting one. The nine-to-five work days, which often dragged out to nine-to-eight days during busy periods, are a constant realization of the terrible things that occur around the world, sometimes as close as within the city you work or live in. Every hour is filled with reminders that the world can be a terrible place for some, and that having the opportunity to advocate against human rights violations is a product of your privilege to not be on the other side of them. When one project ends, it’s on to the next one, dealing with similar hard realities, only with regards to a different violated right, and rarely with any assurance that the work you submitted will ever make it into the hands of a policy-maker, or even make a dent in the international hardships you are trying to alleviate. Most of the time, all you can do is hope that what you invested your heart and soul into makes a difference, even if by just raising awareness about the issues around you, and keeping pushing forward until the change you work for finally comes. And so, they sing.

**

I had never worked in human rights before my experience in Peru. I now have the utmost admiration for those who do – who dedicate their lives to making the world we live in a better place, if only for some.

On my last day of work, I submitted my final project, took pictures with my friends in the department – who I would see later for a final goodbye party – and emotionally emptied my desk. As I left, I closed the mahogany doors of the Institute behind me for the last time. I hugged Señor Ochoa, the security guard that greeted me every morning, goodbye.

During the walk home, I sang along to Ed Sheeran’s Perfect.

Perceptions, Misconceptions, and Reverse Culture Shock

Ohayon Jillianby Jillian Ohayon

Perceptions & Misconceptions

Here are some of the things that were said to me in Canada when I told people I would be spending the summer in Uganda:

“What’d you do to piss your dad off?” – My father’s (very loud and rather obnoxious) acquaintance, whom I met in the Montreal airport on my way to Uganda

“Is it for a punishment?” – My Cameroonian Uber driver in downtown Montreal

“If you can’t afford to fund the difference on your own, maybe you should get a real job in the summer instead of doing an internship in Africa.” – McGill financial advisor

***

The first thing that I’ll say is that the general Canadian public’s perception of East Africa, and Uganda in particular, seems to me a little twisted. It’s true that Uganda is one of the least developed countries in the world. There is poverty. It is hot outside most of the time. Police officers regularly walk around carrying machine guns. Most living compounds are surrounded by high walls and barbed wire. That being said, there is not crime, violence, and savagery to be found around every corner like some of my friends and family were concerned there would be. Uganda is not a dry and deathly desert land; Uganda is vibrant, lush, and beautiful.

I have also noticed some western misconceptions with regards to East Africans themselves, in that I get the sense that some people assume laziness on their part. To be clear, very few Ugandans sit around pouting, complaining about living in poverty, and waiting for some wealthy person from some wealthy country to come and dump money into their laps. Everybody is doing something pretty much all the time. I always tell people that there exists a strong sense of vitality in Uganda that I have never quite felt before in any other place that I’ve visited. In fact, Uganda was recently named the most entrepreneurial country in the world. From what I have felt and observed, it is a sense of gratitude, pride, and resilience that fuels this spirit.

I worry that the negative stereotypes about danger and disease in East Africa keep people from visiting, even just for purposes of tourism. Uganda has a lot to see. Among others, I visited Jinja (the town on the source of the Nile), Sipi Falls, Murchison Falls waterfall, and went on a safari in Murchison Falls National Park.

Roasting coffee beans, Sipi Falls

Murchison Falls National Park

Murchison Falls National Park

Murchison Falls

Murchison Falls National Park

Sipi Falls

Cave by the shore of the Nile, Jinja

Sunset over the Nile, Jinja

Reverse Culture Shock

Everybody expected me to find myself in serious culture shock upon arriving in Uganda. That didn’t happen. This might have been because I had had a few long, in-depth conversations with two expats living in Kampala before leaving Canada. It may have been because I had prepared myself to expect the unexpected. For whatever reason, I arrived in East Africa, took in the warm, sweet air that filled my senses the moment I stepped off the plane, and hit the ground running. Kampala felt like home after only a few days.

My Canadian-Ugandan friends and I at the top of the Gadaffi Uganda National Mosque overlooking Kampala

This is not to say that there does not exist a multitude of significant dissimilarities between Canada and Uganda. There are certainly many cultural and ideological differences between Canada and Uganda that make being a young, white female more difficult in the latter country. I grew used to being incessantly catcalled on a daily basis on my ten-minute walk home from work. I grew used to having locals shout “Muzungu!” at me in their attempts to get my attention to buy their products (actually, sometimes, they didn’t even want to sell me anything – they just wanted the satisfaction of gaining my attention). I also quickly became used to walking around the city hyperaware of the fact that almost everybody assumed I was in possession of deep pockets filled with American dollars. I even learned the hard way not to travel alone after dark. However, just like Uganda’s shoddy internet and temperamental electricity, all of this just became a part of the experience – and because I loved the experience so deeply, I learned to love the bad with the good.

It was the reverse culture shock that hit me the hardest.

Coming home was not easy. My departure from the full and exciting new life that had so quickly materialized before my eyes throughout my three months in Kampala was cushioned slightly by travels to Kigali, Rwanda with my close friend and IHRIP intern, Julia, as well as a four-day stopover in London, England. Nonetheless, I arrived at home in Montreal, spent a few hours with my family, and proceeded to sleep for seventeen hours straight. I think that, combined with the intense jetlag through which I had put my body, this was my subconscious way of avoiding the feelings that I knew were creeping in ever too quickly as I tried to reintegrate into a society and a life that I now felt so far away from.

It wasn’t just that I missed the beautiful friends I had made over there, or the restaurants I had been to so many times that the waiters knew me by name and even brought me a cake with the words “We are going to miss you” written in chocolate on my last night in Kampala. That was undoubtedly a part of it; but there was something more.

I had never anticipated feeling so free. This feels like a somewhat ironic sentence to write. I can imagine that someone reading this may be thinking, “Free? Really? In a country where you were shouted at every time you walked outside in public and felt afraid to walk alone at night?” Yes. Kind of. I will try to explain it as best as I can, but please bear with me, as I’m still trying to figure it all out for myself.

Kampala, with all of the shouting, traffic, pollution, and poverty that it has to offer, is imbued with a vibrant soul that is only felt by those who understand it. I know this to be true both because I have felt it firsthand and because I have spoken to many people who have enthusiastically agreed with this assertion. It probably isn’t the most beautiful city in the world. It’s not on the ocean, nor is it exactly wealthy. It is, however, a city of sunshine, red earth, many hills, and an abundance of palm trees. All of Uganda has a certain vitality to it. Whether it’s a woman braiding her daughter’s hair, a man selling fruit on the side of the road, or a child carrying water to their home in jerry cans, everybody always seems to be doing something. Rarely do they seem exhausted or miserable. In fact, to my mind, they generally seem to be much happier than the average person one might encounter in North America.

There is also a very different mentality in Uganda by contrast to Canada with regards to time. Scheduling and planning – which are essentially second nature in the western world – do not hold the same influence over Ugandans. One might often hear jokes about “Africa time.” Africa time is, for example, when you tell someone you will meet them at 10:00 AM and then only show up at noon, and nobody thinks anything of it. Rarely did a work meeting begin sooner than 45 minutes later than its set time. Again, nobody ever seemed to be particularly stressed over this. If I told a boda boda driver to pick me up in ten minutes, it was because I knew I was only going to be ready to leave in twenty. This was a significant aspect of Ugandan life that helped to feel liberated during my time there. It might have also been a part of why coming back to the western world felt like something akin to suffocation for a while.

There is also a feeling of liberation involved in being a white person in East Africa. As young females especially, whether or not we are always conscious of it, we live under the constant impression that we are being scrutinized. We aim to look a certain way, we dress in a certain way, and we even walk, sit, and stand in a certain way. Being in Uganda, I knew that I was going to be noticed and stared at no matter what I did. There was no way around that. It took me a while to get to this point, but eventually, I came to find this realization very liberating. It didn’t matter what I was wearing, how I looked, or how I walked, because people were going to stare at me either way. Since nobody there knew me previously, I was free to do and act as I pleased, and to let go of some of the unconscious stress and awareness of judgment that governs so much of my behaviour on a daily basis back home.

To be painfully honest, all of this, combined with the facts that I was on a different timezone from everybody who had ever known me and that I had limited internet connection, allowed me the space and freedom to discover parts of myself that I’m not sure I had known existed. It’s a very liberating feeling, to say the least.

***

Well, that’s about what I have to say on Uganda and its gift of reverse culture shock. Thanks for reading my blog! If you’re reading this because you’re considering visiting East Africa, I hope that my experience functions as a helpful push in that direction. Challenges will certainly present themselves from time to time, but I can guarantee that the positive aspects will far outweigh the negatives. You cannot put a price on the self growth from which you benefit when you succeed in making a home out of an unlikely and unfamiliar place. It wasn’t always easy, but it most definitely was worth it.

Safeguards – Regional and International Protections on the Rights of Children

Katerina LagasséBy Katerina Lagassé
The Adhikain Para Sa Karapatang Pambata (AKAP)[1] Child Rights Desk of the Ateneo Centre for Human Rights works with different stakeholders to advocate for children and has contributed to drafting legislation and building programming for the ASEAN region in partnership with Save the Children.

Currently, AKAP is compiling research on children and corporate social responsibility. In the ASEAN region, children are affected by adverse business practices. They may be affected either directly, by working illicitly as underage labourers, or through other means such as being relocated with their families as a result of land expropriation by corporations or the government, through forced migration due to social and or economic pressures and by being exposed to toxic substances from resource extractive industry practices.

Supporting children’s rights requires businesses to continually and diligently assess their potential human rights impacts and mitigate the issues that are identified. All ASEAN member States have ratified the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and continue to implement domestic laws that follow the CRC framework.[2]

There are different social, economic, and political environments in the ASEAN States which create obstacles to the effective implementation of the CRC. All ASEAN member States are parties to the ASEAN Convention Against Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children. This convention recognizes the proximity of borders and promotes regional cooperation to effectively “combat trafficking in persons, especially against women and children, and to ensure just and effective punishment of traffickers […]”[3]. However, ASEAN member States are each affected differently by the impacts on children associated to business practices. As mentioned these impacts include exploitative child labour and human trafficking and other factors that result from social and economic disparity that shape vulnerable populations (migration, HIV and AIDS, Natural disasters, emerging diseases and conflict).[4]

Certain provisions of the CRC are particularly relevant to business responsibility and state protection.[5] As per the CRC, State parties  “recognize the right of the child to be protected from economic exploitation and from performing any work that is likely to be hazardous or to interfere with the child’s education, or to be harmful to the child’s health or physical, mental, spiritual, moral or social development” and are required to “take legislative, administrative, social and educational measures to ensure the implementation of the present article(s)”.[6] Recognition in particular requires providing a minimum age for employment, regulation of hours and conditions of employment, and imposing penalties or sanctions to ensure the provisions are effectively enforced.[7] States are required to protect children from sexual exploitation and sexual abuse[8], from trafficking[9], and against any form of exploitation that prejudices a child’s welfare.[10] Furthermore, States are required to implement penalties for abuses[11] and to take measures to promote the physical and psychological recovery and social reintegration of children that are considered victims of “neglect, exploitation, or abuse; torture or any other form of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment; or armed conflicts” in order to promote the “self-respect and dignity of the child”.[12] According to the CRC, State parties are required to implement child protection measures to ensure the government fulfills their commitment. As of June 2017, Indonesia is the only ASEAN member State to launch a National Action Plan on Business & Human Rights.[13]

[1] Akap is a Filipino term that means “to embrace”.
[2] “Situation Review of Children in ASEAN: A report by UNICEF to the Association of Southeast Asian Nations” (December 2007), online: UNICEF < https://www.unicef.org/eapro/Asean_book.pdf > [UNICEF, “Situation…”].
[3] ASEAN Convention Against Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children (entered into force November 21, 2015) at art 1(a), online: Interpol <https://www.google.ca/?gws_rd=ssl#q=asean+convention+on+human+trafficking+interpol >
[4] UNICEF, “Situation…”, supra note 8 at 9.
[5] See CRC, supra note 9 at arts 32, 34, 35, 36, and 39.
[6]Ibid at art 32.
[7]Ibid.
[8]Ibid at art 34.
[9]Ibid at art 35.
[10]Ibid at art 36.
[11]Ibid at art 32.
[12]Ibid at art 39.
[13] FIHRSST, “Indonesia publishes National Action Plan on Business & Human rights; first to launch NAP among Asian countries” (25 June 2017), online: Business & Human Rights Resource Centre < https://business-humanrights.org/en/indonesia-to-develop-a-national-action-plan-on-business-human-rights#c159131 >.

The Ateneo Human Rights Center (AHRC) and Human Rights Education

Katerina Lagassé By Katerina Lagassé
The Ateneo Human Rights Center (AHRC) of the Ateneo de Manila School of Law facilitates an internship program that provides an opportunity for Ateneo law students to gain experience in human rights advocacy and alternative lawyering. This program provides students with an understanding of the “vulnerable sectors of Philippine society”.[1] Throughout the year, different batches of students participate in the internship program. There are three main activities the Semestral Break Internship program (two weeks), the Summer Internship program (2 months), and the Graduate Internship Program (yearlong).[2] Subsequent to the internship, students continue to support the program and the centre by generating activities and research that supports human rights advocacy.[3] The summer program is unique because it includes a week-long immersion in an Indigenous community that is followed by an internship placement at human rights groups around the country. The mandate of these organizations ranges from addressing issues related to the environment, children, Indigenous peoples, urban poor, women, fisher folk, detention prisoners, and migrants (to name a few).[4] Each placement allows students to gain an invaluable hands-on experience that exemplifies the barriers that exist to access to justice and the importance of alternative lawyering in the Philippines context (and abroad).

In Atty. Marlon J. Manuel’s article “Lawyer with the Poor”, that is reproduced in the Training Manual for Paralegals (and interns), he deconstructs the concept of alternative lawyering. For Atty. Manuel, it is a form of lawyering that uses legal tools and works through the legal system to address social issues, but is not limited to solely providing legal aid.[5] Alternative lawyering is distinct from traditional conceptions of human rights lawyering in that it focuses on “economic, social and cultural rights rather than on civil and political rights” while “seek[ing] to effect societal change”.[6] This form of practicing the law requires understanding the precarity of social relationships and circumstances that perpetuate injustices and necessitates working with the marginalized not for them.[7] Atty. Manuel’s legal career reflects this philosophy and practice which the interns were able to witness in the documentary on the struggle of the Sumilao Farmers before commencing their internships.

Prior to departing on the immersion, students undergo the basic orientation seminar and read the Training Manual for Paralegals. During the seminar, presentations by different specialists provide a framework to understanding Human Rights in the national context. This year, the presentations included: Alternative Lawyering (Atty. Anmau Manigbas, AHRC), Legal Aid and Client Interview (Atty. Kenjie Aman, ALSC), Children’s Rights (Atty. Nica Yan, AHRC – AKAP), Refugees, Statelessness and Internally Displaced Persons (Atty. Anmau Manigbas, AHRC), The Environment and Human Rights (Usec. Ipat Luna, Department of Environment), Peasant Farms Section and Agrarian Reform, Human Trafficking – Modern Day Slavery (Atty. Vida Verzosa, International Justice Mission), Women’s Rights and Gender Sensitivity (Atty. Nayie Caga-ana, Urduja-AHRC), Indigenous Peoples’ Rights (Atty. Ma. Vicenta De Guzman, PANLIPI), Criminal Justice System (Atty. Iyok Abitria, HLFA), and Justice Reform in the Philippines  – Hustisya Natin (Atty. Tonet Ramos, Alternative Law Group).

Atty. Ma. Vicenta De Guzman’s introduction to Indigenous Peoples rights in the Philippines and the organization PANLIPI demonstrated the importance of providing paralegal trainings to Indigenous and other rural communities. In particular, PANLIPI supports and empowers indigenous communities to gain control of their Ancestral Domain and maintain their self-determination. These forms of training provide community members with the tools required to advocate for their rights and understand the legal framework which effects their rights. Each presentation contributed to unpacking the concept of alternative lawyering in the Philippines and how this form of legal practice creates valuable social networks and empowers people to advocate for their rights. The immersion experience as well as the internship placement will be carried by the students throughout their professional career regardless of what legal stream they decide to follow – as attested to by past interns and the AHRC team.

[1] Training Manual for Paralegals, A publication of the Ateneo Human Rights Center (2010), p. 101.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid at 6.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Ibid at 8.

Defining Equality: Namibia’s Supreme Court and the Rights of Persons with Disabilities

By Kevin Lee Pinkoski

Equality in Namibia and the Rights of Persons with Disabilities:

A young country – with a new constitution – needs an active judiciary that takes every opportunity to develop a more nuanced understanding of its constitutional principles. This is the context of Namibia, a country that, in 1990, won independence from South Africa after years of racial division implemented by apartheid, and, in the same year, adopted a new constitution. But many terms in this new constitution have yet to be comprehensively nuanced and defined through jurisprudence. As the case Alfred Mew Visser v Minister of Finance & 3 Others shows, Namibia’s judiciary continues to miss opportunities to describe both the nuances of equality as the term is present in the constitution and its relationship to the rights of persons with disability.

The nuance that is lacking from Namibian jurisprudence on equality is if the term is only limited to formal equality, where the law treats all individuals equally, or if it includes substantive equality, where the law recognizes individual differences in order to make everyone equal. Namibia’s constitution prioritizes equality, yet Namibia’s Supreme Court has failed to provide an accurate explanation of what is meant by the term in the constitution — if it is limited to just formal equality, or if it can be expanded to substantive equality. The judiciary must play an active role in addressing these ambiguities. Consequently, disabled individuals in Namibia are left without true equality.

Alfred Mew Visser v Minister of Finance & 3 Others:

The Alfred Mew Visser case is about the rights of persons with disabilities. Alfred Visser was in a severe car accident and, as a result of his injuries, he was blinded in both his eyes. Because of Namibia’s no fault insurance scheme, he was awarded damages according to The Motor Vehicles Accident FundThe Fund sets caps for damages, and Alfred Visser challenged these caps under the claim that they do not adequately provide the financial support necessary for him to live with a permanent disability. The Supreme Court did not find the case in his favour because of the financial implications of going beyond the caps established in The Fund.

Alfred Mew Visser characterizes a clear problem in the Namibian judiciary; the term equality in the Namibian constitution has not been accurately defined by Namibian jurisprudence. Yet the Supreme Court’s response inAlfred Mew Visser, ignorant of this problem, focuses only on the financial limitations of The Motor Vehicles Accident Fund. My criticism is that, regardless of the outcome of the case, the Supreme Court needs to actively seek out opportunities to elaborate and clarify Namibia’s constitutional principles. Because of this, the Supreme Court’s judgment in Alfred Mew Visser is a missed opportunity to provide a nuanced understanding of what is meant by equality – this is detrimental to Namibia’s most vulnerable populations.

Equality in the Namibian Constitution:

Strong memories of the heroes of the liberation struggle, such as Toivo ya Toivo, continue to inspire Namibians like Fazilla to fight for equality.

Reflective of years of apartheid – when inequality between race was implemented by law – Namibia’s new constitution prioritizes equality for all its citizens. The preamble to the constitution sets this mandate, affirming that “the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is indispensable for freedom, justice and peace.” Namibia, as a new country, founded itself on the principle of equality.

Namibia’s standard of equal rights for all is expanded upon in Art. 8: Human Dignity and Art. 10: Equality and Freedom from Discrimination of the Constitution. Art.8(1) states: “The dignity of all persons shall be inviolable”, and Art. 8(2)(a) elaborates: “In any judicial proceedings… before any organ of the State… respect for human dignity shall be guaranteed.” Art.10(1) reads: “All persons shall be equal before the law,” and Art.10(2) continues: “No persons may be discriminated against on grounds of sex, race, colour, ethnic origin, religion, creed or social or social status.”

The constitution and current government policy indicate an ambiguity between formal and substantive equality in Namibia. While Art. 10(1) establishes the terms of formal equality before the law, Art. 10(2) creates the potential to use the law to make all individuals equal through substantive equality.  Art 10(2) indicates the potential for substantive equality as it would be discrimination not to make individuals equal who suffer under the prohibited grounds for discrimination in Art 10(2). The emphasis on equality in both the preamble of the constitution and in Art. 8 show Namibia’s prioritization of equality for anyone within Namibia’s borders. Furthermore, Namibia has embarked on clear projects to create substantive equality for marginalized populations, such as economic empowerment initiatives and gender equality programs. There is a clear ambiguity in what is meant by equality that must be addressed by Namibia’s Supreme Court.

Neither Art. 8 nor Art. 10 provide a nuanced understanding of what is meant by equality. Because of this, Namibia’s lower courts have been limited to an understanding of equality that only evaluates the formal equality of all individuals before the law, not the substantive equality necessary to make all individuals equal. Furthermore, as Alfred Mew Visser shows, the Supreme Court has failed to take any opportunity to define any nuances to what is meant by equality as it is presented in the Namibian constitution. Because of this, Namibia has yet to create an environment of true equality for persons with disabilities.

Disability in Namibia and Alfred Mew Visser:

Although empty on the weekend, the Katatura Disability Plaza houses numerous organizations that promote equality for people with disabilities.

Namibian law defines disability as “a physical, mental or sensory impairment that alone, or in combination with social or environmental barriers, affects the ability of the person concerned to take part in education, vocational, or recreational activities.” This definition is elaborated upon to include the “loss or limitation of opportunities to take part in the normal life of the community on equal level with others due to physical or social barriers.”

The Namibian constitution does not list disability as a prohibited ground for discrimination in Art. 10(2). Thus, for disability to be adequately recognized or discussed in terms of equality, the Namibian judiciary must establish that disability is included under the prohibited grounds for discrimination in Art. 10(2).

Disability has a clear consequence on an individual’s ability to participate in society, it has a detrimental effect on the following grounds prohibited by Art. 10(2) of the constitution: social status, economic opportunity, and personal prosperity. The statistics are clear: 17.7% of urban disable persons do not attend school, 82.3% of rural disabled persons do not attend school, 42.5% of disabled persons work in agriculture and fishers, with 14.6% in elementary occupations. 70% of disabled persons live in homes without a mortgage. The reality is explicit – being disabled in Namibia is a limit on the potential of an individual to achieve success and prosperity.

In the example of Alfred Mew Visser, Alfred Visser has suffered a permanent disability because of the accident: he is blind in both eyes; he has a physical impairment that will impede his potential to participate in everyday activities and in work opportunities; he will need to learn a new system of reading. He is likely to be to be limited, as Art 10(2) of the constitution explains, to a “social status” because of his disability.

Art. 8 and Art. 10 of the Namibian constitution ensure a conducive environment to the full and equal participation for all in society, including those with disabilities. But, as was previously alluded to, because neither Art. 8 nor Art. 10 provide a comprehensive definition of what is implied by equality, the Supreme Court is required to give such an interpretation. The Alfred Mew Visser case is a clear example of a missed opportunity to give a more nuanced explanation of what is meant by equality, a missed opportunity that will be detrimental to disabled people – one of Namibia’s most vulnerable populations.

Formal Equality – Equality as applied by the Supreme Court:

Namibia’s clear wealth disparity, apparent in the village of Hoachana, is continually being addressed in the pursuit of equality.

Namibian jurisprudence has yet to provide a nuanced understanding of what is meant by equality in the Namibian constitution. The problem is that, because of the limited wording of the Namibian constitution, there is no need for courts to expand beyond an understanding of equality that is restricted to formal equality. Formal equality is established only by equality before the law. It applies blind rules to every situation, no matter what social differences may be involved. If the Namibian constitution ensures only formal equality, the Namibian Supreme Court should define that distinction. While it is possible to develop the language of formal equality in Alfred Mew Visser, it is important to recognize that the case turns on the financial limitations of The Motor Vehicle Accidents Fund, and not the issue of equality.

In Alfred Mew Visser, the court employs a view of formal equality before the law, as all claimants are held to the same limits of compensation, regardless of either their individual characteristics or the consequences of an accident. Alfred Visser’s disability can only be taken into account provided it falls under the limits of the caps established in The Motor Vehicle Accidents Fund, and it cannot be adjusted to take into account the particular needs of certain claims. The caps employ the same legal equality to all — the same formal equality before the law — and thus the court can resolve that “No distinction is made between claimants at all” since “all claimants are in the same position when it comes to the capping of their claims and are thus equal before the law.” No differentiation is made between individuals and their needs. If this is what is meant by equality in the Namibian constitution, the Supreme Court should define equality in this way in its decision.

Formal equality could, however, provide the means to address the necessary compensation required to ensure equality for disabled individuals. Since, to establish formal equality, the court adheres to “equality before the law,” it is the actual law itself that would have to change. The Motor Vehicle Accidents Fund would have to be amended to provide for a recalculation of damages for disability, for injuries that cannot be recovered from and that requires an individual to live their life in a different way. In this way, the court could still employ formal equality before the law, but the law itself would have to be expanded to provide for the necessary compensation to an individual who has been affected to a new “social status” (as Art. 10(2) of the constitution establishes) as a result of an accident. The Namibian constitution could imply formal equality in this way, but the distinction would have to be made by the Supreme Court.

The Potential for Substantive Equality in Namibia:

The Katatura Hospital is one of many public hospitals that provides medical services to Namibians.

In Alfred Mew Visser, substantive equality would imply that, because Visser has been placed in a different social status as a result of the disability incurred in the accident, the court could employ a definition of equality that allows for increased compensation. While the court establishes that The Motor Vehicle Fund ensures that “equally positioned persons are treated equally”, it fails to consider that some individuals will require more support in order to be treated equally. The reality is, as substantive equality reminds us, that the results of an accident do not leave all individuals “equal”, and that some, especially those with long term disabilities, will require more compensation. If the court had chosen to establish substantive equality as a part of the Constitution’s definition of equality, the court would allow for the law to be adapted to Alfred Visser’s specific case.

Furthermore, the court would establish the necessary precedent to employ substantive equality when necessary to ensure that the law can be adapted to provide what is needed for any individual to achieve equality. This is the missed opportunity of the Supreme Court, they failed to recognize the reality that equality before the law does not ensure that the law has equal effects on all individuals. Consequently, in order for the law to allow that all individuals can achieve equality as a result of the law, a substantive understanding of equality should be employed. Here, the Supreme Court has failed to provide for a more nuanced, and more just, understanding of equality that takes into account an individual’s unique needs. Alfred Mew Visser is thus a missed opportunity to define equality.

Conclusion:

Namibians, especially Namibia’s most vulnerable population, must again wait for the Supreme Court to develop a nuanced understanding of equality. Namibians are left with ambiguity as to if equality goes beyond formal equality to address substantive equality, thus allowing for the prohibitions on discrimination in Art. 10(2) to be extended to unlisted ground. It is, as Art. 10(1) reminds us, that “all persons shall be equal before the law” – so why stop short of protecting Namibia’s vulnerable populations?

The Supreme Court should be capable of providing the necessary jurisprudence to clarify and develop the constitution. The Supreme Court cannot be limited by state resources or policy in its decisions, it must be capable of balancing these limitations with the necessity of equality. The nuances in the term equality have yet to be defined by Namibia’s Supreme Court, and the Court continues to miss opportunities to add the necessary nuances. Defining these nuances is, after all, the role of the judiciary.

 

« J’accuse Trump, j’accuse la France, j’accuse Sarkozy »

Lucas MathieuPar Lucas Matthieu

Ouagadougou (“Ouaga” pour les intimes) ressemble de plein de façons à ce à quoi l’on s’attendrait de la capitale d’un pays enclavé et sub-saharien. Le flux incessant des motocyclettes, la poussière, les gardes armés dans la rue, la pollution, la chaleur étouffante en cette saison des pluies, les maquis et leur poulet braisé : tout est en mouvement. Pas en ligne droite, vers le sacro-saint Développement, mais comme la trace d’un scooter fatigué qui crache encore, de ses zigzags, emballées, esquives suicidaires et roues arrière héroïques.

Dans cet assemblage, je suis forcé de reconnaitre, bien souvent, des restes – peu entamés – d’hégémonie française. À commencer par la langue, réappropriée certes, mais bien la même. En face de ma chambre, une vielle carte du Burkina indique encore, en légende, la superficie du pays, sa population, et son « maitre colonial » la France. Les antennes Canal+ sont partout, ma carte SIM est Orange et je paye en Francs CFA. Le Burkina Faso vient d’adopter le système LMD.  Bref, la France est omniprésente, sur le plan militaire, industriel, politique, économique, et culturel. La population Burkinabè en a tout à fait conscience. Alors que je marchais hier vers la rue passante pour trouver un maquis (bar/restaurant d’exterieurs qu’on trouve à tous les coins de rue), j’ai entendu un jeune dans un groupe qui criait « J’accuse Trump, j’accuse la France, j’accuse Sarkozy ». La nuit tombait, mais ç’aurait aussi bien pu être l’aurore.

Nous avons parlé du rôle de la France et des États-Unis dans le dispositif militaire Burkinabè et Ouest Africain en général, du système universitaire Burkinabè, des restes de la colonisation et du point de vue Burkinabè sur le la révolution technologique. Il semblait ambivalent sur ce dernier point. Il mentionna que la conquête coloniale européenne était basée sur le Progrès et la Modernité, bref, la fin de l’histoire. Il semblait convaincu de la nécessité pour l’Afrique de s’adapter et d’entamer une transition technologique – il prit notamment pour exemple la Corée du Sud et le Japon – tout en fustigeant le monopole français sur le capital social Burkinabé via la formation d’élites Africaines, l’imposition semi-camouflée su système scolaire Français et la fuite des cerveaux.

En même temps, il paraissait convaincu que la structure sociale africaine traditionnelle était responsable dans une certaine mesure de ce manque de changement. Il m’expliqua que l’écart entre les modes de fonctionnement sociétaux Africain et la rationalité occidentale ne permettait pas un tel saut. On comprend alors à quel point la domination française agit encore ici. Il ne s’agit pas seulement de contrôler, encore aujourd’hui, les ressources des anciennes colonies. Mais, via le soft power français, via Canal+, via Orange, via les publicités étincelantes pleines d’automobiles de luxe, montres érogènes et gratte-ciels parfumés, de créer le récit d’une Afrique immobile et coincée en étaux par ses soi-disant contradictions : culturellement, ni traditionnelle ni moderne; politiquement, ni colonisée ni indépendante; économiquement, pleines de ressource qu’elle serait incapable d’explorer.

 

Ag Shame! We Can Only Do Law Reform

By Kevin Lee Pinkoski

Law Reform and the Luxury of Legal Research:

“Ag shame!” Exclaimed one of the legal researchers who works with me at Namibia’s Law Reform and Development Commission (the LRDC). “ Wouldn’t it be nice to do legal research that wasn’t just about fixing the laws in a country.” Ag shame, the universal Namibian expression that serves as a useful response to absolutely anything, was this time employed in a negative sense. My co-worker was disappointed by the realization that necessity was ruling out luxury in legal research.

Downtown Windhoek shows how luxury may be sought after, but the colonial heritage has limited many to only necessity.

My co-worker was responding to a presentation by academics from the University of Cardiff during the first week of my internship at the LRDC. The presentation focused on what political biases may influence the decisions of members of the U.K.’s Supreme Court. When asked about the intention of the research, the academics explained that it was to “make it clear who our judges were.” It was clearly beneficial research; to know the biases of the judiciary could help both the public better scrutinize the judges and perhaps even force judges to better scrutinize themselves. But in the eyes of my co-worker, this research was a luxury to pursue. The thought that diversity in legal research is a luxury – that some countries and contexts are limited by necessity to only do legal research that evaluates whether or not the law achieves its intended outcome – is the most preponderant lesson I have learned while interning at Namibia’s LRDC.

The Necessity for Law Reform in Namibia:

Namibia is a young country. It was granted independence in 1990 from South Africa after a racially divided struggle, the consequence of years of apartheid that segregated black and coloured Namibians from the white ruling elite. In the year Namibia gained independence, the first democratic elections were held, a representative constituent assembly was elected, and a new constitution was implemented. The new constitution boldly stated the mandate for the new Namibian republic: “equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is indispensable for freedom, justice and peace… regardless of race, colour, ethnic origin, sex, religion, creed or social or economic status.” According to its new constitution, Namibia would never again treat its citizens unequally.

Independence, for Namibians, marked a new chance for a prosperous future that would benefit everyone – a stark contrast from the years of colonial administration.

Namibia’s colonial relationship with South Africa, the United Kingdom, and Germany have had a clear impact on the country’s legal framework. Colonized first by Germany at the end of the 19th Century, Namibia, then known as South West Africa, would come under the control of the United Kingdom during the First World War. After the war, a League of Nations mandate would then grant administration of South West Africa to South Africa. South African administration would continue, even after the United Nations and the International Court of Justice declared the governance illegal according to international law, until independence was won in 1990. The consequence of three separate colonial administrations was three distinct layers of law, each applied one over the top of the other – each layer retaining its applicability unless otherwise stated. Upon independence, Namibia chose to retain the validity of all previous laws unless the laws were otherwise repealed, modified, or replaced.

The colonial legacy of Namibia exposes the need for law reform. It is here where the luxury of doing diverse legal research is lost because of the urgent need for law reform. Not only do many of Namibia’s laws have a colonial legacy, and thus fail to treat all Namibians equally, but Namibia has transitioned since its independence, first attempting to consolidate the nation’s ethnic diversity through the law, then moving towards an attempt to modernize its laws to realize economic success for individuals that were otherwise limited during the years of apartheid. Law reform plays a key role in determining how laws can and should be modernized to promote the equality, prosperity, and peace ensured by the Namibian Constitution.

The Law Reform and Development Commission:

It is in this process of repeal, modification, and replacement that the Namibian LRDC plays its role; it is mandated to repeal obsolete laws, consolidate codification of the law, harmonize customary and statute law, recommend more effective laws, and enact laws to promote human rights. The LRDC exists as an office separate from any other part of the Namibian Government. This independence gives the office the ability to evaluate the potential impact and usefulness of any law from an apolitical perspective.

To achieve its mandate, the LRDC relies on its most useful tool – public consultations. The LRDC’s political independence gives it the ability to reach out to whoever it chooses. But this process hasn’t become limited to specific stakeholders or powerful groups; the LRDC fosters relationships with as much of Namibia’s population and as many distinct groups as it can, to determine the true impact and perception of the law.

Capana, Namibia’s most popular street food, involves a “farm to mouth” process, that connects farmers, meat buyers, butchers, and cooks, all to cook meat, in markets that are open from 8am to 10pm.

In many ways, Namibia is ideal for this type of an office. The country is only 2.3 million people, its small population means the government is interconnected. A large bureaucracy makes the government accessible. Political organizations are populous. People are proud of their heritage, both the places they come from and their own personal history, and as a result, communities are engaged, concerned for their wellbeing, and accountable for their achievements. Still, there are groups that are skeptical of the current political process, groups that struggle to see how their interests are being represented. It is, therefore, necessary to have government organizations, such as the LRDC, that accommodates all Namibians, regardless of their current engagement in the political process.

The LRDC seeks out and fosters relationships with stakeholders implicated by potential laws. The typical political process is reversed; instead of groups pursuing politicians and advocating for specific decisions, the LRDC reaches out to the variety of stakeholders that are needed to determine the effectiveness of the law. The LRDC develops these relationships, with close ties to the University of Namibia, traditional communities, political assemblies, municipal leaders, law reform commissions throughout the world, NGOs in Namibia, and, above all, Namibians themselves.

The LRDC’s Law Reform Process:

Headed by the dynamic Ms. Yvonne Dausab, who has had a career in private practice, in academia, and in government, the LRDC operates in consultation with the Office of the President. Appointed in 2015 directly by the President of Namibia, Dr. Hage Geingob, Ms. Dausab cooperates with the Commissioners, a select group of Namibia’s top legal professionals who, while employed elsewhere in Namibia, manage projects and provide advisory guidance. Projects are requested directly by the Office of the President, the Attorney General, and the Ombudsman. On each project, legal researchers are assigned from within the office to coordinate research and consultations. The final output of each project is an evaluation of a law’s effectiveness, its implications in Namibia, and any possible areas that could be perfected.

The Commission works like a legal consultancy, but because it is Namibian in its staffing and location, it provides a truly Namibian perspective on the law. This is necessary, especially in Africa, where legal recommendations that are deemed to be effective in another part of the world are often prescribed to African countries. While some of the most effective law firms in the world may be able to make recommendations to Namibia about the law should be, few of these recommendations can access how the law should be for Namibia. But by being in Namibia, staffed by Namibians, and connected to Namibia, the LRDC can consult within Namibia and recommend how the laws should be for Namibia.

The success of each project depends on the ability to find and include the necessary interested and implicated parties in Namibia. The New Equitable Economic Empowerment Framework project relied on country wide consultations with Namibia’s poorest citizens, marginalized business owners, and investors from all backgrounds. The Marriage Reform project relied on consultations with traditional communities whose marriage practices were the most divergent from civil marriages, as well as groups that provided support for any detrimental consequences from traditional marriages. The recommendations on Disability Law Reform synthesized the perspectives of Namibian’s with disabilities, organizations that support persons with disabilities, and institutions that struggle to assist persons with disabilities. Around the world, all of these laws exist in a functional way, but only the LRDC is able to determine how they can exist in a way that will work for Namibia and benefit Namibians.

My own work at the LRDC was directly involved in this process. Working with Ms. Dausab, the focus on my work was to prepare for stakeholder consultations, provide initial readings of proposed laws, conduct comparative legal research with other jurisdictions, and consolidate current Namibian court decisions. To support Ms. Dausab’s consultative network, my work included speech writing, analysis of stakeholder recommendations give to the office, and writing both articles and recommendations on behalf of the office. As an editor, I was tasked with editing The Law Reform and Development Commission At 25: A Quarter Century of Social Carpentry, a book on the potential of law reform in Namibia, along with numerous reports and publications. My work was diverse, reflective of the Law Reform Commission’s mandate to address all laws in Namibia.

The Chairperson of the LRDC, Ms. Dausab, addresses the Junior National Council on Child Marriages in Namibia and possible legal solutions, a catalyst moment in law reform.

Because of the Law Reform Commission’s proximity to both stakeholders and groups directly implicated by legal decisions, its influence is direct and consequential. The legislative response to child marriages in Namibia is a clear example. Ms. Dausab was asked to give a speech to the Junior National Council on the consequences of child marriages and what legal solution could be used to ending child marriages in Namibia. While only 7% of children are married before the age of 18, such marriages occur under an exemption within the law that allows children to marry with both parental consent and the approval of an officer of the Ministry of Home Affairs. After delivering the speech to the Youth Council, the Council passed a recommendation to the National Council to remove the exemption provisions. Even though the National Council was on recess, the Ministry of Gender Equality and Children announced in the following week that it would conduct both statistical research to determine where child marriages were occurring, consultations with implicated communities, and research into legal and institutional reform needed to end child marriage. As this example shows, the desire for law reform is evident across Namibia and Namibians are willing to act to ensure true equality.

Necessity over Luxury:

Legal research can be both a social necessity and an academic luxury. Since I started my studies in law, I’ve been exposed to legal research that is as diverse and complex as any academic discipline. There is research that, similar to the LRDC’s work, intends to influence the writing of the law and inform judicial decisions. But the scope of legal research is not limited to only reform. It expands to guidelines on how to support the convergence between law and other academic disciplines, its analyzes the pedagogy of teaching, and it criticizes how the discipline itself exists. This variety is a sign of a healthy academic discipline. But it is important to remember that this diversity and vitality is a luxury – one that can be afforded because of the functionality and success of the Canadian legal system.

In Namibia, the luxury of diverse legal research will only begin when the law itself has developed to a point where it exudes confidence in its own potential. Until then, the brightest legal minds in Namibia are nobly limited to the mission of law reform. Ag shame!

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